


Whole Together

by heeroluva



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Angst, Bloodplay, Bondage, Dubious Consent, Enemas, Exhibitionism, Gags, M/M, Pon Farr, Possessive Behavior, Prison Sex, Protectiveness, Rape/Non-con References, Rimming, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-19
Updated: 2011-05-19
Packaged: 2017-10-19 14:34:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/201908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/pseuds/heeroluva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim breaks into prison to break Spock out, but when he finally finds Spock things don’t go quite as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whole Together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tripperfunster](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=tripperfunster).



If at all possible, Kirk would have dragged his feet some more or moved even _more_ slowly as the Klingon guards pulled him along. He had learned his lesson the hard way. Being tugged off his feet and landing flat on his face, unable to break his fall because his arms were cuffed behind his back, was _not_ an experience that he relished facing more than he already had. _Especially_ since the guards never even faltered in their steps or allowed him to regain his footing, and instead just hauled him along, seemingly intent on dragging him over every bump and divot along the way. By the time he reached his destination he felt like he’d already taken quite a beating. It had _only_ taken him three such incidents until he had decided that he wasn’t going to be any good in finding Spock if he was concussed or so badly bruised that he couldn’t move. Bones would be so thrilled with his reasoning skills.

But that didn’t mean Jim didn’t try – wasn’t _still_ trying – to annoy the guards in other ways to keep them off-balanced. He aimed at not letting them take him seriously, at making them consider him an annoying idiot that didn’t know when to shut up or when enough was enough. He constantly ran his mouth, insulting everything from the way they dressed to their odd appearance and everything in between. The beating he’d received after insulting the Klingons’ mothers was enough of a deterrent that he hadn’t tried that one again. Internal bleeding was not conducive to surviving long enough to find and free Spock. Another reason for Bones to be proud of his deductive reasoning skills, he hoped.

Not that he _would have been_ able to talk right now, even if he had wanted to – the muzzle they had wrapped around his face when they’d burst into his quarters in the middle of the night held his jaw firmly in place. The hard punch to the gut that had left him wheezing had been enough of a hint that his attempts at making noise once it was on were _not_ appreciated. They’d even added ankle shackles today which they had done without since they had decided that, while he may try to slow them down, he had no true inclination to run. The late night wake-up calls were pretty much the norm as they tried to keep him off-balanced, but as a long time insomniac they didn’t affect him all that much. The shackles just gave him an excuse to shuffle his feet and fall behind more than he really needed to, all the while using the reduced speed to intently take in his surroundings, memorizing anything that might come in use for an escape if the Enterprise couldn’t find and destroy the device blocking their teleporter from beaming anyone up. He was careful not to drop too far behind though because he didn’t need another close encounter with the floor.

In all honesty he wasn’t sure what to make of the muzzle. Usually these trips meant a round of torture or an encounter with an agonizer to try and get the prisoner to talk, but it wasn’t like he could do much talking with this thing keeping his jaw locked firmly in place. They also weren't taking him the usual ways to the interrogation rooms, or the ‘dungeons’ as he mentally referred to them as due to their resemblance to medieval torture chambers. Instead they seemed to be leading him deeper into the prison past the areas he’d been in before through endless corridors of cells. As he’d taken note of previously there seemed to be an oddly large amount of Vulcans (or possibly Romulans) here for some unexplained reason.

As he was led past never-ending rows of containment cells, he was once again struck by the large amount of Vulcans (or possibly Romulans since they were so hard to tell apart without talking to them) that stared at him from behind shimmering force fields. He had previously taken note of this over-representation in a very painful way when on his first day, he had rounded the corner into the mess hall and had seen a flash of pointed ear and sleek black hair. He had rushed forward, not quite believing that he’d hit the jackpot so unbelievably fast. But luck hadn’t been on his side when upon grabbing the man’s shoulder it had quickly become apparent that it wasn’t Spock. Trying to spin the Vulcanoid around, Jim had been unprepared for the man to wrench away or to send Jim flying across the room where he hit the wall and landed in a graceless heap on the unforgiving floor.

Jim must have blacked out for a moment or the man had moved amazingly fast because he was suddenly standing in front of Jim, hissing, “Don’t touch me with your filth, human.”

At that point Jim had realized that at least half the room was filled with ‘pointy-eared bastards’ as Bones would have said. That in itself had been odd enough to take note, but he hadn’t dwelled on that fact long, when, with dawning horror, he had recognized his mistake at drawing such attention to himself. His actions had caused all eyes in the room to focus on him, some in indifference, but more in hatred or a cruel lust. The latter, although not as obvious, he recognized all too readily, having seen it many times, experienced it far too often. As much as he put his pretty-boy good looks to good use, they brought with them as much pain as they did pleasure. But he’d known the risk when he’d ultimately decided that it would be him that would get caught and break Spock out.

There had been talk of sending in Chekov, but as soon as Kirk had heard that he’d immediately vetoed it, not even considering the idea. The kid may not have had the same type of good look that Jim did, but the whole wide-eyed innocent little boy look that the teen genius had was just as bad if not worse. And Jim knew that allowing the kid to be the one to go to this prison planet would have been more cruel than throwing him to the wolves. Even if Chekov had survived it, he would have been destroyed.

Jim had lived through it once and knew he’d survive it again. It wasn’t a situation he’d allow anyone else to enter into. His crew had disagreed with his choice of course, arguing that as Captain he had to remain safely aboard the ship. He’d disagreed but eventually given in to their demands. They _really_ should have known him better than to accept his compliance at face value, should have realized how stubborn he could be when he put his mind to something. When Bones had been distracted, Jim had injected himself with the hypo containing the tracer designed to go off when it picked up on Spock’s biological presence. Then he’d ditched his communicator and beamed down, but not before adding a programming code into the console that would temporary cause the teleporter to malfunction after he’d left. By the time the crew had realized what he had done, he was long gone, and it was too late.

That had been almost two weeks ago, and he had yet to find a trace of Spock’s whereabouts. The other prison inmates tended to be unforthcoming about things, unwilling to answer his questions. Those that even acknowledged him only had one use for him, and it sure didn’t involve much talking. So he had settled for listening into the other prisoners’ discussions. All he had been able to pick up for the past couple of days were whispered conversations with odd phrases like ‘pon farr’ and ‘plak tow’, spoken both in reverence and fear. Thanks to Spock’s recent teachings, he was familiar enough with the Vulcan language to recognize that those words were a part of it, but he had no idea of their meaning. Now, as he was being led through the endless maze of hallways, a strange silence seemed to follow in his wake, and there was a tension in the air that seemed to increase as Kirk got closer to what he could only assume was his destination.

When they finally came to a stop in front of a cell no different than the hundreds of others that they had passed except for the fact that at first glance, it seemed empty, he didn’t understand what was happening. He’d been transferred to a different cell multiple times now and without nearly as much fanfare as this. The silence was more than a little disconcerting, and when the force field blocking the entrance dropped with a sizzle he suddenly felt like a lamb entering the lion’s den. All the hair on his body stood on end and he broke into a sweat, shifting as his overalls suddenly became uncomfortable warm and sticky. The slight movement caused his chains to rattle, and with the break of the silence came a flurry of motion.

 _Something_ moved from the darkness in the back of the cell faster than his eyes could make out, and at the same instant, he was suddenly shoved forward into the small room. He found himself wrapped in a tight embrace that forced the air from his lungs and wrenched a moan of objection from him as his ribs wildly protested the treatment. The sound went unheeded as he was slammed backwards into the force field that had quickly been put back in place. The impact threatened to break his arms due to their bound position behind his back, and the sharp pain that shot through him caused his vision to darken at the edges. For a moment he had to fight hard against passing out, but the laughing words of the guard brought him out of his daze.

“Have fun, maggot. And look on the bright side, human. If he doesn’t fuck you to death, you’ll be too fucked out for anyone else to want you anymore.” At the words the silence that had followed in his wake during his trek through the prison suddenly broke as raucous laughter and crude words exploded all at once from the nearby cells.

The astonishingly hot body against his tried to push impossibly closer as a hard, muscled thigh was thrust deep between his legs, lifting him off the ground and pressing tantalizingly against all the right places. A scorching mouth trailed wet kisses across cheekbones towards his ear and lingered only briefly before moving down to his neck. Throwing his head back, his eyes clenched shut as he tried to cry out only to have it muffled by the muzzle as the nibbling kisses and playful nips were suddenly replaced by a harsh, possessive bite that he knew was going to leave a mark. Despite the wrongness of the situation Jim felt his own cock begin to harden and he cursed his traitorous, well-trained body.

But at least the pain brought some semblance of control back to him as reality hit him like a bucket of cold water. If his hands had been free, he would have pushed against the man, but all he could do in his current position was buck and squirm. On second thought that maybe wasn’t the brightest idea as he rubbed against the pulsing hardness digging into his stomach. And if the warm dampness that was soaking into his overalls was anything to go by the other man was very naked.

Jim’s eyes snapped open and his head forward as the reverent moan of, “Jim,” reverberated loudly through the small cell. He blinked rapidly trying to clear his vision, knowing that there was no way that what he was seeing was real. But when the vision before him didn’t waver, he knew it had to be – and even if he didn’t understand it, his cock hardened impossibly more.

It was Spock that was pressed so intimately against him, Spock whose attentions left him hard and breathless, Spock who was completely naked and very aroused, Spock whose normally so carefully controlled face was twisted into a feral mask that almost made him unrecognizable. Blazing eyes swirled like melted chocolate as they seemed to feast on him, and Jim knew that he could get lost in that gaze. Spock’s normally sleek, straight hair was disheveled and stuck to his forehead in a sweaty disarray.

Jim had so many questions that he wanted to ask, so many things he needed to know, and he hated the fact that he couldn’t voice a single one of them. But what he wanted to ask most right now was what the fuck Spock was doing as his hands suddenly grabbed the shoulders of his coveralls and pulled, ripping the material away as though it was nothing. Scraps of cloth fluttered uselessly to the ground while others clung to his bound arms and tangled around his ankle chain.

Spock suddenly dropped to his knees and Jim almost pitched forward as he was shoved farther up the false wall. His knees where pushed up towards his chest, and Spock attempted to spread them open only to have his efforts halted by the chain connecting Jim’s ankles. With a growl Spock snapped the chain like it was little more than a string and Jim would have gaped in any other situation. He’d been on the receiving end of the Vulcan’s temper and thought he knew full well how strong the man was, but if this show was anything to judge by, Spock had been holding back.

With the chain suddenly out of the way, Jim found his legs pushed up impossibly higher as his knees where spread painfully apart, leaving him devastatingly exposed. Arching his back, he slid down the barrier until only his shoulders rested against it, and the rest of his weight was supported solely by Spock’s enormous strength. He’d imagined his encounter with Spock a lot of ways, but never like this, certainly not in a prison cell, and undoubtedly not without Jim being the one to initiate it. This was something that he hadn’t even dared dream even when he had fantasized about Spock in the dark lonely hours of the night cycle, something he never allowed himself to think about in the artificial light of day. He’d known that there was no way he’d ever act on those desires, so why dwell on them?

But he knew that this was _very_ real, and not some half formed dream, as a hot puff of air tickled his exposed pucker, causing his swollen prick to twitch as it leaked precum against its resting place on his stomach Spock’s hands abandoned their position on Jim’s legs and trailed down to cup his ass, kneading the muscled flesh there as those legs settled over his shoulders. Spock’s head lowered out of his view, and with the muzzle on, Jim couldn’t bend his neck all the way down to see what was going on. But his imagination supplied him with a vivid picture as something wet trailed along his cleft, stopping momentarily to nuzzle his balls before wandering back down to circle around his clenched hole, teasing the sensitive flesh, gently probing, yet demanding entrance. He was suddenly thankful for the cleanings, both inside and out, that he was had been subjected to, to keep him the guards’ sadistic version of ‘clean’ because he was sure this would have been much less pleasant without. But he quickly pushed such distasteful things out of his mind and focused on the now.

Jim’s cry was muffled by the muzzle and he at once wished fervently for its absence so that he could beg for more, while at the same time being thanksful for its presence so that he couldn’t and thus save himself the embarrassment of having done so. It was like a furnace was licking him, the heat unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. Long, slow strokes of that talented tongue were soon replaced by fast stabs that finally broke through his resistance and forced his muscles into a relaxed submission. Then Spock’s thumbs were there, spreading Jim even wider as that clever tongue hit all the right places. Light strokes quickly turned into firm probes that finally slid into him and licked places that made his toes curl.

He dug his heels into Spock’s back, trying to get closer as that tongue wiggled around in him, probing deep, but not deep enough, almost touching where he so desperately wanted to be touched but not quite. When the tongue withdrew, he would have cried out if not for the sharp nip of blunt teeth at the edge of his sensitive hole, which was quickly soothed by lavish strokes of the tongue, again and again and again until he was nearly incoherent with pleasure. And then Spock’s mouth closed over his hole and _sucked_ , causing Jim to cry out so loudly that even with the muzzle on, it must have shocked the occupants of the nearby cells, because there was a sudden silence that was quickly overtaken by a new explosion of depraved laughter and even fouler dialogue.

He would have come right then and there if Spock hadn’t let up, forcing a whimper of protest from him, which quickly turned into a moan as he was swallowed down by an inferno that threatened to consume him. When slick fingers roughly slid between his cheeks and along his cleft and forced themselves into his spit-slicked ass he winched and squirmed from the pain. He wasn’t sure where the hell Spock got lube from, but he wasn’t going to complain about it. Not in this situation.

But the pain was quickly forgotten as those fingers began scissoring apart, stretching him open. When a third finger was thrust in with a long burn that only sent him higher, Jim arched his back even farther unsure if he was trying to get away or begging for more. Then those fingers crooked up and with seemingly scientific precision zeroed in on his prostate and gave it a massage like no other.

At the same instance Spock swallowed him completely and _hummed_. Jim was too far gone and couldn’t have stopped himself if he’d tried as he exploded down Spock’s throat, cumming so hard he was afraid he’d pass out. Spock pulled back slightly while his free hand reached up to massage his balls, milking the last of the cum from his cock, not missing a drop. He kept the light suction, causing Jim to whimper and try to squirm away as his over sensitive flesh was kept hard, despite its desire to take a break. He wasn’t a teenager anymore, and he’d thought instant turnaround was beyond him.

Apparently not.

Spock pulled off of him with a pop that caused his cock to bob almost comically before it smacked against his stomach to rest against the cool puddle of precum that had formed there previously. Then Spock’s fingers slid out of him causing Jim to whine and clench at the sudden emptiness.

He didn’t have long to contemplate his emptiness before Spock was on his feet again, pushing his legs up and out once more, and there was a hot, thick hardness nudging insistently at his hole. Pressure and then more pressure before the head popped impossibly wide, first one ridge, and then another, sending a shooting pain up his spine. Before he had a chance to get used to it, before he could catch his breath, Spock was thrusting forward in a long deep slide. And then it was all inside, hot and thick and long, filling him to overflow, searing him from the inside, so hot he was afraid he’d burn. But he found that he didn’t care anymore, didn’t care about anything other than the cock with its odd ridges that were rubbing so deliciously against his prostate.

But then the angle changed as Spock pushed him higher, trying to get deeper, and Jim cried out in pain as his shoulders took the brunt of the force due to his bound wrists. Spock immediately froze at the sound, proving that he still had some semblance of control, some understanding of what was going on around him, even if Jim didn’t have the slightest clue what was happening. Spock reached behind him and snapped the chain there just as easily as he had the one connecting his ankles. Arms finally free, Jim quickly rolled his shoulders in relief, releasing some of the tension that had developed there, only to then wrap his arms around Spock and drawing him close once again. Canting his hips, rutting against the Vulcan, he urged him to move, now that that obstacle was out of the way.

Spock was quick to take the hint, picking up where he had left off, setting a punishing pace. Jim knew he was going to be bruised where Spock’s fingers dug into, his hips, his thighs, his ass, never staying still for long, continuously searching for a new place to feel, to mark. Urgently one of Spock’s hands moved to cup his face, fingers trying to rest on the same points that the future Spock had once touched to initiate a mind meld, an intimate experience that he would never forget. But Spock actually growled as he finally took note of the muzzle that was in his way. Shoving his fingers under the metal, Spock pulled until the fastenings gave, and Jim hissed as they tore flesh, but he didn’t care because all that mattered now was that he could talk.

“Spock, what—” but he was cut off as Spock’s mouth crashed into his, demanding entrance, pulling and worrying at his lower lip so hard that he tasted blood but didn’t care. He wondered – and not for the first time – where Spock had learned this and he felt an unprecedented flash of jealously at the thought of anyone with Spock like this even though he knew he had no claim. Then Spock’s hand was back, cupping his cheek almost lovingly as his fingers settled into just the precise place for—.

And _then_ Jim wasn’t thinking anything as Spock’s mind crashed into his and he was overwhelmed by thoughts, memories, feelings, and emotions not his own. Their shared orgasm was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before as it washed over them, through them, tore them down and rebuilt them. He’d thought that what he’d experienced with future Spock was extraordinary, but this was beyond words as he got washed away in the sea that was Spock. There was an overwhelming passion: a sense of want, need, take, have, and it was all focuses solely on Jim, like he was the center of Spock’s universe. But hiding under all that was a devastating sense of guilt for what he was doing, shame at his loss of control, and fear that he had ruined the best thing that had ever happened to him, and lost his best friend in the process.

Jim tried to project comfort and acceptance, even though he still didn’t have the slightest clue what the fuck was going on, but he wasn’t exactly well versed in the ways of the mind, and his last telepathic encounter had pretty much been him standing there and taking it. Maybe thinking about a mind meld with another Vulcan (even if it was with Spock’s future self) wasn’t such a good idea right now if the wave of possessive jealously that washed over him was any indication.

The maelstrom of emotions was quickly replaced with flashes of memories: Spock in school getting teased, giving in, getting punished; his mother and his love for her; his burning need to gain his father’s respect even as he went against the man’s wishes and ventured out into the world to find his place; meeting Jim and the annoyance which he felt because of him and the displeasure over feeling _anything_ at all for the man; the growing respect for Jim and then _something_ else, some feeling Spock didn’t recognize. And those were just the snatches of images that Jim could make out as memories whizzed by faster than he could process them.

At that point Jim realized with dawning terror that Spock was seeing _his_ memories just as much as Jim was privy to Spock’s’. He wouldn’t, shouldn’t, _couldn’t_ allow the other man to see but somehow the more he tried to repress the memories the more his mind brought them to the forefront, a multitude of leering faces. He realized with shame and self loathing that he was crying, something that he’d sworn he’d never do over these memories again. But then, he’d sworn he’d never let anyone know, never share them with anyone. They were supposed to be things that went to the grave, completely unspoken.

And then he was seeing the memories through Spock’s eyes, and he withdrew into himself fully expecting condemnation and rejection or worst of all pity. Instead, he was greeted by anger at the situations and a sense of relief and pride that Jim had gone through such things and still come out whole.

 _Not whole,_ Jim denied. _Fractured. I’m just good at forcing the piece into place._

 _No, t'hy'la. We are whole together._

Jim had no idea what Spock had just called him and would have thought his words clichéd and untrue in any other situation, but he could _feel_ it. He wasn’t quite sure what _it_ was, but it was definitely there.

Suddenly the meld ended and he was thrown back into his own body. He was momentarily disoriented when he found himself lying on a bunk instead of pushed up against the barrier. And then he realized that even though the meld had ended Spock was still a solid presence in his mind. Not nearly as strong, but there, a company that he couldn’t ignore, but didn’t really know what to make of.

Spock moaned and began moving again, and Jim felt a rush of heat through their bond, a crazed need for more, to take possession and mate. He still not understanding what this was about, and even though he could still feel Spock’s reservations, he projected nothing but calm and acceptance into the guilt he sensed because he was strangely okay with that. They’d get past this. But now was not a time for thinking. Thinking could happen later. Right now was a time for action, and Jim was never one to pass up some action.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Days later when Jim awoke it was to feelings not his own, so strong that he feared he’d be lost in them, in overwhelming waves of guilt and self depreciation. Jim sighed and reached down to the clenched fist resting against his stomach. He gently straightened Spock’s fingers before intertwining his own with them and bringing their joined hands up to his face for a soft kiss.

Spock stiffened behind him but did not pull away, “Your acceptance of this is most illogical, Captain.”

Hands stilled linked, Jim rolled over to face Spock, not willing to have this conversation unless it was face to face. “Well if you’re back to calling me ‘Captain’, I guess whatever had you in a craze is over.”

“Yes, Captain. My ‘craze’, as you put it, appears to be over. And I still maintain my previous statement. You are taking this far too well.”

Jim rolled his eyes. “I think after what we just shared, calling me ‘Jim’ wouldn’t be inappropriate. Would you rather I curled up in a corner and cried, had a mental breakdown? You know me better than that. And how about you explain what the hell happened to begin with.”

Spock looked away, unwilling to meet his eyes. “No, I am in fact relieved that you are taking this so well. But I should be court-marshaled for assaulting and raping a fellow officer multiple times.” There was a pause. “I would rather not elaborate on the cause of the circumstances that occurred here.”

Jim gritted his teeth in annoyance. He was pretty sure his dick was broken from overuse, sore in places that he didn’t know could be sore, dirty, hungry, and tired, and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with Spock’s recalcitrant tightlippedness. “This wasn’t rape. I know rape.” Spock finally looked at him, and Jim felt the uncertainty, the hesitation, and the disbelief. “You’ve seen my memories.” Spock nodded. “And this was nothing like that. I also don’t care if you don’t want to talk about this. You made me a part of this, and you will explain.” Jim used his best authoritative captain voice.

He felt Spock’s rebellion and distaste through the bond before he finally spoke, “Vulcan’s don’t speak of it.”

Jim just rolled his eyes again and pushed Spock onto his back, straddling him. “Do I look like a Vulcan to you? And you’re part human, so there has to be some sort of loophole there.”

Spock looked thoughtful before nodding. “It is called ‘pon farr’. Every seven years those of my species go into a heat of sorts and must partake in sexual intercourse. We find the loss of control to be exceedingly humiliating. If it was just a physical mating we needed, things would be extraordinarily simple. But it is the mental bonding that is the most important factor of the pon farr. For pon farr there is no end without it, and not everyone is mentally compatible.”

“But we’re compatible?”

Spock looked vaguely uncomfortable in his position under Jim. “Very much so.”

“But there is more to it than that.” It was a statement not a question.

“Yes. The bond is permanent. For me there will be no other.”

Jim stretched out over Spock using him as his own personal heater as he pulled the blanket more snuggly around them. “I thought it was something like that.”

Spock waited. And waited. And waited.

“Jim.”

“Yes, Spock.”

“This is permanent for me, but that does not mean it has to be for you.”

Through the bond Jim could feel how much it cost the other man to say those words.

“Yes it does, Spock. It’s permanent for me too.”

For the first time ever, Jim was thankful that it took the Enterprise so long to rescue them when an explosion rocked the prison throwing them both off their shared bunk and to the floor, putting an end to their conversation. He was also thankful that they’d been wrapped in a blanket and that the blanket had managed to teleport with them as they materialized on the floor of the infirmary.

There were several startled gasps at their disheveled appearance before Bones ordered his staff out. They were treated to a moment of silence before the doctor exploded with, “God damn it, Jim. You were supposed to be on a rescue mission not a…”

He trailed off as he saw how Spock had risen proudly in all his naked glory and positioned himself protectively between him and Jim, his face a mask of fury, just as emotional now as the time he had beaten the shit out of Jim for questioning Spock’s love for his mother. “He was, Doctor.” The statement left no room for argument, counter, or continuation.

Bones blinked, feeling like he’d just missed something big, and side-stepped a disaster of equally large proportion, but wisely said nothing more. Instead, he got them cleaned up and into beds where he could begin his scans.

Talking would come later. A _lot_ of talking. Bones watched them as the scans ran, sleeping now after their ordeal, so exhausted that they had fallen asleep quickly on their own with no need of his sedatives. Noticing movement, he observed both men moving their hands across the small space separating each bed and how two fingers from each hand touched in what he could only describe as an intimate gesture.

Yep. A lot of talking.

The tricorder beeped, and he examined the scans. Seeing the results, he sighed and closed his tricorder.

A lot later.


End file.
